family loss – Let's Just Think

“They’re On The Boat”

S.A.Leys Photo / http://www.SALeys.photo

Mom’s vascular dementia came on quickly – within two weeks of my Dad’s death.

It took us all a bit of time to adjust. Initially, it was hard even to figure out which end was up, and we just went day by day trying to figure everything out. After a few months, however, we settled into figuring out a routine that would work for us to get mom to all of her appointments while also keeping track of shopping and meal prep and everything that needed maintenance around the house.

It was a scrappy start, but we slowly got to the point where we could figure everything out. One of the biggest (and probably the most heart-wrenching) challenges was mom realizing that her memory was going, and then trying to navigate that with her. Eventually, we settled on the idea that “this is what happens when you get old” and not calling it something more clinical that no one was ready to hear.

It was the “elephant in the middle of the room” that we just referred to as “it’s what happens when you get old” instead of “vascular dementia.”

One day mom dropped a full glass of Merlot on the white carpet next to her chair. When it happened, she was overwhelmed, and so we had her move to the couch so we could move the chair and clean the area around it quickly. She then forgot about it.

A few days went by, and then one morning, she sat with her coffee and read the paper. As she reached for her coffee, she noticed the faint stain (which my brother and I had unsuccessfully tried to clean multiple times).
“What’s this?” she asked. “Ah, I was klutzy,” I said. “Susan Ann!” – her response. It was a lot better to take responsibility for the spill than it was to see the immensely sad look on her face that accompanied her realization that her memory was fading very fast.

I don’t know that you ever realize how intense caregiving is when you’re “in it” – only when it’s behind you, and you have time to reflect and adjust and yes, grieve and remember. For the most part, I am incredibly grateful for the time we had together. It was nice to step off the treadmill of working like a nut and calling Mom and Dad every few days to check how things were going to spending time with them in person. We enjoyed being together even if a huge chunk of that time involved driving to appointments, buying groceries, or meeting with healthcare providers and the hospice team.

Whenever we fell into the “doughnut hole” with her medications, we talked about the doctors that she didn’t want to see anymore and the medications she didn’t want to take because of how they made her feel.

Thankfully, the doctor who ended up treating her was the one she loved the most. A very compassionate man who agreed to care for her while we remained in their home – helping us and supporting us through each difficult decision as it arrived.

We laughed a lot, thoroughly enjoyed going on picnics in our golf cart, and loved watching the dolphins and manatees swimming out in Sarasota Bay (the video above was filmed during one of those picnics). My other favorite part was listening to her critique of the houses in our neighborhood, especially as it related to color choice, texture, and design.

Probably one of the things that made me the most anxious during that time was when mom couldn’t find her glasses. We had an abundance of “cheater readers” around the house, so the challenge was navigating around the cheaters to find her prescription glasses so she could read or sign whatever was in front of her. “Here, they are!” I would say while handing her the glasses I had in my hand. “No, those are magnifiers,” she’d say. It was frustrating, as many of them had the same shape frames.

Mom and Dad (who together battled autoimmune illnesses for 25 of the 60 year they were married) both have been watching over us from heaven for a few years now. A few weeks ago, in searching for my glasses, I ran across Mom’s. I thought “here they are!” – half expecting her to be sitting on the sofa in my place saying, “Oh good, you found them!”. But this wasn’t the case, and as I held them in my hand, I found myself relieved of that same anxiety I felt whenever I would be searching for them.

I decided to put them where I know I would be able to find them easily if needed – they’re on the boat.

The Funny, Quirky Stuff

On this day – it’s about the funny quirky stuff. If mom was still alive the stress would have started about a month ago – just before her birthday. The phone would ring and she would say “I can’t find my calendar. Your father and I have driven to the local bookstore but we can’t find it anywhere. The one place we checked that I thought would have it was already sold out.”

The calendar she was referring to was the Sierra Club Wilderness Calendar – because she loved the photography. It had to be the spiral bound one – so she could flip it over quickly if she needed to. AND – it had to be the one with the large boxes (for days) so that she had enough room to list all of the appointments that she and dad had. “Okay I’ll take care of it.” I’d tell her; and while still on the phone with her I’d grab my computer, go to amazon.com or Sierra Club (#sierraclub), search for the calendar, order and pay for it and make arrangements for her to have it in two days.

By this time she’d be talking about something else and when there was a break in the conversation, I’d tell her “okay it’s on the way”. “What’s on the way?” she’d ask. “Your calendar,” I’d tell her. “Susan Ann!” she’d say, I could never quite figure out if she was frustrated that I had arranged for it that fast or if she was happy that I had saved her some time trying to find it. What was important was that it was on the way. As the years went on, she would call and ask “can you order a calendar for me?” “Sure” I’d say and by the time we hung up from speaking with one another, she would know when the calendar would be coming. But she’d still double check – “it’s the spiral bound one right?” “Yes” I’d tell her.

The week that it arrived she’d spend her initial time looking at all of the photographs. When I was with her she told me what it was she liked about each one. The next week, she’d spend time putting in everyone’s birthday, making notes of appointments and (my favorite) adding her sketches of all of the holidays and birthdays.

Then in 2017 when we moved to RI from Florida, we packed the calendar but couldn’t find it once we arrived. This wasn’t good as I had finally (because I’m slow like this) realized that mom’s calendar and pencil was the exact equivalent of my MacBook pro. So I went to Amazon, looked up previous orders, changed the address to Rhode Island and (“bam!”) another one was on the way. By the time it arrived though, we had already (finally) found her old one so she had all of them (2 for 2018 and her 2017 one) next to her chair.

A few weeks ago when I was with my brother, I told him I had found her calendars about a month or so before visiting him. And because I’m neurotic like that – I took pictures of some of her sketches. And yes, I even thought of ordering a Sierra Club calendar (which would be totally nuts as everything even related to a calendar, appointment or important date is so streamlined on my MacBook (and color-coded and synced to my phone and watch) that this is a totally crazy idea. Right?

But it’s the memory of it and all of the conversations and very funny moments that went with it that make this a hard idea to let go of. Need a calendar? – You can get one here.

“I’ve Got The Cat!”

It’s a little nutty when you think about it.

It wasn’t easy for me to leave New England to start a new job for a few reasons, but the one that was most bothersome for me was not being able to see the flowers at mom and dad’s grave site.

I’m not really sure what started this idea, but I think it was the fact that I wasn’t ready for mom to go when she died. And I know that the time of anyone’s death is not anything you can ever control; but mom’s death just took the wind out of my sails for a bit.

So after their burial service, when everyone had gone and my brother had flown out and I was on my way back home to New Hampshire, I stopped into the cemetery to say good bye and take one last look at the flowers we had left knowing they would be gone the next time I was there. As I stood looking at the tombstone I thought “nope, can’t do it”.

I felt like I needed to leave something a little more “in line” with our family so I got back in the car and drove down to Chaves where I found this little cat who has been “guarding”… okay maybe “watching over” mom and dad since their burial service.

In a way that I really can’t explain, there’s something reassuring about this teeny little kitten just hanging out with mom and dad that always makes me feel a little bit better and more reassured. This is especially true now that I am now in Maryland and can’t stop in to see the flowers or speak with them as much as I had when I lived in New Hampshire.

As mom had always loved planting flowers in the cemetery, we left a few bulbs thinking no one would really notice and when they came up, they would help shade the kitten that was watching over them. It was the perfect plan. And yes, I thought of leaving a Christmas tree with blinking lights but even I know that there needs to be a little dash of tact when dealing with the “things to leave at the cemetery” issue.

So this week, my brother went to meet with our accountant and stopped into the cemetery to check on things (as instructed by me, his neurotic sister, who wanted to make sure the cat was okay and the box of greens left at Christmas had been moved so the flowers could come up in time for Spring).

But today, he called me to say there was a huge sign posted at the entrance to the cemetery that said that on April 10th they were going to remove everything from the cemetery except for flags for veterans. This news made me a little apoplectic – not only because of our guardian kitten but because I still haven’t heard from the person responsible for making sure there is a flag in the cemetery for dad on veterans day and Memorial Day.

Anyhoo – Luckily my brother noticed the sign and called me with his report.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got the cat!!” he said.

It was funny in that he also realized the importance and significance of its presence at the cemetery. It’s like “if anyone in our family is anywhere, there must always be a cat”. “I’m taking it with me to Florida” he said “its not like it’s going to take up a lot of extra room in my luggage”.

“You should probably give it a little bath” I told him.

“Already did” he said. We both were reassured our little guardian kitten would stay with us instead of being absconded by someone removing everything from the cemetery.

Sometimes when I go to the cemetery I can almost hear mom: “you know we’re not here right?” – which I understand. But there’s something about having an access point that’s a little more tangible than a prayer or a quiet walk on a beach.

Maybe that was the point of it all – to get families out of the cemetery and talking to each other instead of standing in a cold, quiet New England church yard staring at a slate tombstone. Now if I want to see the cat I have to go to Florida to see Scott and Trey (his Maine Coon cat).

But there’s something about the transition of our “watch cat” that has disrupted my true north.

The Cats Are Alright

This is Nate. He’s my guy, named after the author Nathaniel Hawthorne. For the last threeish years, Nate and I had been living with my mom in Florida and taking care of her. She had two cats of her own, Trey and Callie (pictured below). Trey is the oldest, a Maine Coon cat who thinks he owns the world, Callie is a little diva (who’s a year younger than Nate) and then Nate, who sort of has a personality of his own and is probably one of the most affectionate cats you will ever meet. He is a master at headbonking.

Mom and I had made a deal that if I found a new career endeavor in New England, she would move back with me as she wanted to see her friends and watch the leaves change in the Fall. Hearing her discuss this made my job search more focused as I wanted this wish to come true for her.

A few months later, I was hired and we made plans to move. Initially, she wanted to live with me but then decided that it would be better for her to be in an assisted living place closer to her friends in our hometown. I decided I would stay in the town where my new job was and then commute back and forth to visit her on the weekends.

Originally, because it was only a few days, I left Nate at home to guard the fort on the weekends I would visit her. But as mom became iller and I was spending more time with her, I decided to keep Nate with me. Together, we would drive to and from Mom’s normally listening to books on tape or podcasts along the way. He seemed to be a lot more relaxed everytime we listened to “This American Life” so it became a thing.

From our visits and conversations during the week, I thought mom was getting better. This thought was short lived however as, on a Friday when I spoke with her, I heard her coughing and realized this wasn’t the case and that the pneumonia she had developed was still present. I decided that Nate and I would head out earlier than we usually do the next morning and also called the staff and asked them to check on her that Friday night.

Early on Saturday morning, her nurse called to tell me that when she had arrived to give mom her medications, she had died.

It was news I never hoped (and wasn’t ready) to hear.

After making calls and asking for help from a friend, Nate and I got in the car and headed south to mom’s.

The next month was a foggy blur as I emptied out mom’s apartment while taking time to have a few big ugly cries as I wasn’t ready for her to leave. And while Nate and I spent time getting things together, Callie and Trey were definitely struggling.

fullsizeoutput_19b — S.A.Leys / Take Paws Photography

Callie is a rescue cat (her story is here). A beautiful and also very affectionate little girl who had a tendency to sleep with mom on her pillow above her head. Mom would go to bed and she would tell me “the next thing I know, Callie’s on the pillow kneading before settling down and purring while finding her comfortable spot to spend the night”.

And because she was a girl, every time one of the guys got close to her, she would growl wanting to make sure she had her space and her “mom time”.

screen - 147 — S.A.Leys / Take Paws Photography

Trey was the master of the house. He was “mom’s cat” and had been part of our family for several years. Even before they settled in Florida full time, Trey had traveled with them back and forth to Rhode Island. At one point, during one of their flights, she had opened his carrier to pet him during a layover at Dulles International when he decided to push by her hand and take a nice long walk along the concourse.

Mom, not wanting to scare him, followed him from behind until she could finally get close enough to grab him. Hearing her tell the story was hilarious and Trey had many events like this but usually did really well between living in Florida during the winters and on their boat with them during the summer.

But when mom died, he was lost. And while I knew that cats grieve when their owners die, I never realized how bad this grief process could be until I watched Trey for several days after her death.

The morning I arrived, mom had died but was still in her bed. What was reassuring to me was that she looked the way she always had whenever I arrived early in the morning; resting quietly looking content.

Trey was lying across the doorway to her room. It almost seemed like he didn’t want anyone to enter and didn’t want her to leave. And he didn’t move – as the nurse, and subsequently, the funeral home director went into and out of the room, he stayed exactly where he was – lying fully sprawled out, blocking the doorway, watching everything.

When the funeral home director came back with the gurney, I picked Trey up and took him to mom’s chair in the living room. I think he liked that he could still smell her presence so he stayed there… watching everything like a hawk with those big Maine Coon Cat eyes of his.

Callie, initially had hid under the bed but then followed us into the living room where her “people” were.

The following days were the worst as Trey and Callie realized that mom was no longer there. I’d watch as Trey jumped from the top of her bureau (where the clothes she had worn most recently were still in a pile) and then to her bed; he was clearly looking for her. Callie had settled into the floor of her closet where she slept on top of her shoes.

A day later, it was early in the morning when I decided to take a shower. I had closed the door when I could hear the feverish scratching of paws against the door and loud yowling. When I turned the shower off, I grabbed a towel and opened the door to see Trey – it was like you could actually see the sad, disheartened, “oh, it’s only you” look on his face.

A few days later, my brother arrived. Together we discussed Callie and Trey and keeping them together or separating them. Because Trey had been the only cat my parents had had for several years before rescuing Callie, we decided that Trey would go back to Florida with Scott and Callie would move in with Nate and I as they seemed to get along pretty well.

The next few weeks also seemed trying for Callie and Trey as furniture was donated (along with antiques and books and other belongings). What had been their home had transitioned to suitcases, duffel bags, and boxes which subsequently were taken to different places. The emptier the room became, the more confused they all appeared to be.

Because of this transition and the grief they had, I paid a lot more attention to what I was doing and made sure that we developed as consistent a routine as possible for them regarding spending time together, feeding and bedtime. I also made sure that some of mom’s clothes were available for Trey to lie down on.

On the last day, I put Callie and Nate in their carriers and took them to my car. Trey and I were the last ones to leave mom’s room. I made sure we had a conversation and a prayer about mom watching over us in heaven and then thanking Trey for being so brave before we closed the door behind us.

A few weeks later Scott returned to take Trey home with him. Watching them together going through security at the airport, I knew that both Trey (and Scott) would be happier together but I cried as I watched them leave. Trey had endured probably one of the toughest times in his life but I knew he would be happier having all of Scott’s affection to himself and being in warm, sunny Florida where he could watch the birds play outside while watching the world go by.

And Callie and Nate have settled in well together here in our home – adjusting to their new place.

Grief is hard; but the cats are alright.

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